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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25750012">It seemed</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/eikyuuyuki/pseuds/eikyuuyuki'>eikyuuyuki</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Fall of Gondolin, M/M, Sad with a Happy Ending</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 03:47:02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,318</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25750012</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/eikyuuyuki/pseuds/eikyuuyuki</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"It seemed we have missed so many chances."<br/>A few thoughts of Rog and Penlod during their punishment for fighting.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Rog of Gondolin/Penlod of Gondolin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>It seemed</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">


        <li>
            A translation of

            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/21296276">Dường như ta đã</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/windrelyn/pseuds/windrelyn">windrelyn</a>.
        </li>

    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is originally written in Vietnamese and included a poem of Puskin which I could not find the English translation. Hence, the effect is lessened. Moreover, it has been ages since I post anything in English so please forgive my English (grammar and stuff). I still find that I could not convey the beauty of this work (from Vietnamese to English) so if you can, please read it from the original post (and support the author, she is great!)<br/>Also, this is built on Gondolin headcanon we have been established for a while. If you want to explore more, you can read the "Overview about (our) head-canon systems for Vinyamar Untold and Gondolin Untold" (in my list).</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>One.</strong>
</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>
  <em>It seemed we could never live at peace with one another.</em>
</p>
<p>Penlod hated personal physical contact for no special reason, simply because he could not understand the meaning of a touch. As if there was a thin layer of ice covering his harden heart, keeping him away from any feeling. For the Lord of the House of the Pillar and the House of the Tower of Snow, hugging someone was no different than hugging a stone cold marble. He avoided body contact with other Elves and flinched from even a hand-hold for the fear of disappointing them as he could not return theirs feeling. And that they would discover his insensitiveness and they would see the many sharp icy spikes pointing out from his heart - a sign that no one was welcomed near.</p>
<p>The first hand he had ever held – or to be exact, be forced to hold – belonged to Penlod’s archenemy, the rude smith often sought to quarrel with him, the last person in all Middle Earth he would want to hold hand.</p>
<p>As if it wasn’t ironic enough, Penlod strangely could feel the warmth from the other’s scarred hand. It was as clear as the thumping of his heart, lying deep under the layer of ice.</p>
<p>“Hey, say something.” The red-haired Elf gruffly said without glancing at him. They were still holding hands and had gone half the way to the square.</p>
<p>“Say what?” Penlod replied, hearing the coldness in his voice. <em>Yeah, what should I say? We have nothing to talk to each other except regular angry words, lashing and insults. Our relationship was but clashing of weapons and exchange of blows, happened few times a week. All of which had been forbidden by the order of the King, until we finished with our punishment.</em></p>
<p>They continued walking on the white stone pathway on which lied the freezing late night damp. The other’s hand was slightly slick with sweat but it didn’t bother Penlod because he liked the heat. He had never been touched by such a warm hand that was enough to overpower the cold block of ice covering him.</p>
<p>However, the thought of standing so near the enemy of his life still made him uneasy. Penlod liked the sturdy, warm hands of the Smith but did not like the Smith himself. <em>Why it had to be him?</em> If it was someone else, he would not hesitate to speak honestly, revealing the wish he had kept in his heart for hundreds of years, ever since he knew how much he craved for such warmth. <em>Stay with me, would you?</em></p>
<p>There was a bottomless chasm between them making simple conversation impossible. Moreover, Penlod did not like the thought of sharing his true feeling to someone who was unmannered and heartless like Rog. Morgoth's dungeon has deprived him of his emotions, replacing them with the aggressive instincts of a monster, leaving behind an indifferent and unconcerned person who had witness the death of so many of his folks. Penlod didn’t want to come too close to him, fearing that would stir the sleeping demon.</p>
<p>Hating someone was not easy. The quarrel, the fight between theirs people made him frustrated. The devil seed that the Dard Lord planted in Rog made him worry, even terrified, but he could not totally detested the Elf nor could he forgot the years they shared together, in Vinyamar of old. It seemed contradictory when he both wanted to stay as far as possible from Rog and yet, yearned for the chance of their meeting - which was seldom - despite the fact that they could throw bitter words at each other right after.</p>
<p>Perhaps there was a part of his heart which was not completely frozen that still anxiously waiting for the old smith to return.</p>
<p>Perhaps their relationship was not in conflict. Their fight did not start from childhood like most of the Elves in the city had mistaken.</p>
<p>Perhaps it was because before the dark came to Nervast and Vinyamar, there had not been any disagreement between them.</p>
<p>They used to get along very well.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>Rog did not know that Elf’s hand could be that cold.</p>
<p>Either did he know why Penlod hated him so much? It was not the usual annoyance between those Elves that were on fighting terms of each other, but resentment.</p>
<p>In other words, Rog felt that his very existence offended Penlod. As a broad-minded Elf, he could overlook the vague malicious rumor spreading around the people of Gondolin in fear of the demon inside him, but Penlod’s look. Every time they passed by each other, without looking straight into his eyes, Rog could feel the unhidden disgust spilled from his pale blue eyes, forming sharp icicles then piercing through him without mercy.</p>
<p>He thought that look was only meant for the enemy, not the two Lords meeting each other every day at court, not the lords served King Turgon since Vinyamar, protected Gondolin together, and had been through so many ups and downs with the Elven race.</p>
<p>The old Penlod must be gone with the emotion left in him. Old was the days before Rog was taken by the servants of the Dark Lord to Angband with half of his father’s people. They had gone too far from Vinyamar to find the ore and paid greatly.</p>
<p>When he escaped from the dungeon and returned to Vinyamar, everything had completely changed. The situation, the people, even the one he thought would support him had turned him down. Only Prince Turgon waited for him at the first turn of the river. It was for his steadfast and trust that Rog did not wander from the right track. Not long after Turgon accepting him, the people slowly welcomed him back. He could catch up with them.</p>
<p>But, he could not do so with Penlod.</p>
<p>Ten years were a blink of an eye to the Elves, but it was enough to turn the heart or broke it. It was enough for a soul to be stained by blood and tear. It was enough for an Elf to become a demon. It was enough to give birth to a monster. It was enough for hatred and doubt to take root in them. It was enough for their love story to end in the dark corner of the world, like a flower withered before it could bloom.</p>
<p>“Hey, say something.” Rog slipped his tongue and regretted about it immediately.</p>
<p>“Say what?”</p>
<p>Say what indeed. He probably knew that Penlod would replied him with coldness like that. It was reasonable though after so many fights and harsh words exchanged between them.</p>
<p>Deep inside his heart, he still had that small hope of finding a piece of the young Elf he met on the construction site years ago. Rog remembered the way he stood behind him in the forge, watched him fixing the broken tools with curiosity and excitement beaming in his blue eyes.  He had to constantly reminded Penlod to move back or the fire would hurt him. As an unspoken tradition between the Elves, the architects, builders and blacksmiths always were on good terms with one another. They were even like brothers and sisters in blood. Therefore, throughout his escape from the darkness, wounded and surrounded by dangers, Rog believed that if Vinyamar turned theirs back to him, there would still be one person accepted him…</p>
<p>
  <em>“My Prince, we could not tolerate the one who had been turned by Morgoth!” The new leader of the House of the Tower of Snow shouted, drowning out the murmurs of concern of the people of Vinyamar. Though his vision gradually faded, Rog could see very clear the blue eyes filled with hatred, anger and tragedy, like a raging whirlwind that swept at him. Instead of the gray tunic of chief supervisor, Penlod now wore a white shawl embroidered with snowflakes, his father’s clothes – the late leader who had fallen in the battle defending Dor-Lómin two years ago. “How can we tell if he was released by the enemy on purpose to spy on us? How can we be sure if the Orcs followed him? I do not trust a word from him. He will bring disaster to Vinyamar!”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Get back, Rog. Let me.” Prince Turgon lowered his voice, walked to stand in front of him, shielding him from the wave of anger of the crowd who were triggered by Penlod. He could not hear what Turgon said for blooding was bumping his ears. He was drawn to the blacked-hair Elf stood at the corner of the hall with his arms crossing in front of his chest. That was the first time he felt the extreme cold emanating from his heart, colder than snow and ice on the winter peaks.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Rog shivered but it was not because he felt cold or angered by Penlod’s attitude and the people. More than anyone, he knew very well the danger the monster in him could bring. He shuddered because an unnamed fear that just swelled like a tide. Fear of how darkness and the years may transform people.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>It turned out that in the past ten years, he was not the only one who was distorted and broken.</em>
</p>
<p>So, he did not hate Penlod. He felt sorry for him, for their relationship, for everything each of them had suffered alone, protected in vain and lost forever.</p>
<p>Unconsciously, he clenched the ice cold hand of the person who was being punished with him, trying to suppress a sigh.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>
  <strong>Two.</strong>
</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>It seemed we have missed so many chances.</p>
<p>“I expect you two have learnt how to get along, even just a little.” High King Turgon spoke as soon as they arrived at the great fountain in the main square.</p>
<p>Penlod loved the gentle melody of the silver stream and the glistening moonlight on the icy white flower petals. But he had no mind to enjoy theirs beauty now. He was exhausted as if they had crossed both Tumladen and Echoriath while in fact they just walked along the main street of the city. The weariness was so great that he just wanted to go back to his House and let the Elven dreams carried him away, far from the thought of the smith. But he also felt something was missing at the moment the warm hand let go of his, without affection or hesitation, as if he had been waiting for the moment the whole time. He though he even heard a sigh of relief from Rog.</p>
<p>The warm faded away faster than the leaves being swept away by the river. The cold soon came back and froze Penlod’s hands.</p>
<p>“So, there was no insult and curse tonight, right?” The King’s stern gaze swept from Penlod to Rog and back again, trying to penetrate their every thoughts, searching for a sign of rebellion or opposition. Turgon was not a kind of rigid or strict person since he had many times forgave the mistake of the Lords. The quarrel between him and Rog, however, had driven him to his limit. This only happened once. Back in Vinyamar, the King had an argument with the Head of the Carpenters at that time who were Galdor’s father, Iorthon. Penlod did not know the reason behind, but he thought it must be related to the internal disagreement, like he and Rog now.</p>
<p>“Nothing, Your Highness. I began to feel that the Lord of the Tower of Snow was not as harsh as I thought.” Lord of the Hammer of Wrath bowed and said. Penlod squinted at him, trying to suppress a stinging taunt. His gentlemanly, subdued appearance in the presence of the King somehow made him uncomfortable. It was as if he was pretending to please his heart, including “enduring” the one he hated every night, accepting that guy's hand to go around the White City.</p>
<p>“But I feel that you still have bad thoughts about the Lord of your opposite House, Penlod.” Turgon crossed his arms, smirking, but his eyes were like spears twisting into Penlod. The Lord of the House of Snow Pillar felt a chill run down his spine. He bowed his head, not daring to meet the King's eyes. He feared the frustration, anger and blame in it. Moreover, he feared he would comprehend his confusing feelings about Rog.</p>
<p>The feeling Penlod both wanted to acknowledge and to crumple and throw away, so they could not tortured his heart days after days, months after months.</p>
<p>“The punishment will last for another three weeks, until you two know how to control your emotions. I cannot accept any more conflicts, understand? “Turgon waved his hand. “In the midst of this dark time, the last thing I want is my two trusted Lords arguing and quarreling all the time. Your sword and your hammer are for the enemies of the dark fortress of Angband, not for your kinfolks. Now, return to your houses.”</p>
<p>“As you wish, Your Highness.” They answered at once. If there was anything that could made him come to an agreement with Rog, it would be Turgon's order. <em>We live for the King</em>. Penlod thought wistfully, as his white flap fluttered. Soon, Turgon disappeared behind the great fountain, where there were marble steps leading to the King Tower. <em>We accept the punishment at the request of the King, not because we genuinely want to get along with each other</em>.</p>
<p>As the dim silhouette of the king passing over the other side of the square, Rog turned away silently and left, without a word or a gesture of farewell, albeit just socially.</p>
<p><em>He felt he had done his responsibility tonight</em>. Penlod thought, wearily, waited for Rog to be far enough then he started walking. Since their two houses were facing each other, they returned on the same path. <em>But our true path has long been separated</em>. The Lord of the Tower of Snow whispered, staring at the reddish brown hair ahead of him. By the time he left the illuminated range of the Elven lights, the icy blue moon made them turn to a sad brown-gray color.</p>
<p>He didn't know whether to thank or blame the reason that kept him from saying. <em>Wait for me. We can go together</em>.</p>
<p>The vision of the proud, coldest Lord of Gondolin saying that sentence was hard to imagine, ridiculous and painful. After all they went through, Penlod felt like he didn't have the right to ask Rog anything. Besides, he was afraid if he said it out loud, he would be laughed at or refused. And that moment would put an end to the hope in him. Penlod would rather keep his vain illusion, broken memories, and hopeless emotions than witnessing them being thoroughly denied in reality.</p>
<p>In the past, he killed his own chance of a lifetime in a moment of fear. The opportunity to frankly admit his affection to the blacksmith Elf; the chance to be side by side with him; an opportunity to love and be loved.</p>
<p>Penlod watched Rog turn into the House of the Hammer of Wrath. Tomorrow they will return to the beginning of the loop, as if today never existed. They will attend the court again, will exchange work with the most neutral attitude possible, and will be at the gate at the moon rise for the punishment. They will be walking on the same way back but not walking together, not knowing - nor wanting to know how the other person felt.</p>
<p>His heart suddenly writhed in pain, but no tears spilled from the ice layer.</p>
<p>
  <em>“Run away, idiot!” The blacksmith Elf screamed, thrusting Penlod into the crevice, which was also the unique path weaving between the two cliffs they had just spent the night before. Rapid-fire black arrows were all around them, most of which hit the boulder and then bounced back. A scream of pain echoed from the opposite valley, rising up amidst the chaotic atmosphere.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“I have to go back to the blacksmiths. They are fighting and dying down there. “Rog groaned, the blood from the deep cut on his forehead dripping down his arm. “You should return quickly and tell the Prince. They can come to Vinyamar at any time.”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“I am also a member of the company.” Penlod gritted his teeth and placed his hand on the sword's handle. The back of his hand was tinged red, but Rog’s blood continued to gush. The cheers of the orcs were getting closer and closer, interspersed with creepy howls of wolves. The second wave poured down the mountain gate like a black rain. “I myself had asked to find the mine. I cannot leave you alone.”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“There is no time left for arguing! Return to Vinyamar now! “Rog pushed him one more time, so strong that Penlod almost fell back on a mossy stone floor. “Run. Tell the Prince. I will block them here, no one will chase you.”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>He inched over. His broad back almost obscuring the bloody view across the mountain entrance. The reddish brown hair loosened up, like a flame sparking in the dark rock. The hammer's blade swung, glimmering in the pale sunlight.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>It was the last image Penlod saw, before running with all his strength, with all the compassion in his heart, with the hope that he would see the blacksmith again...</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>He missed the opportunity to ask him the last question.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Ten years later, that question no longer mattered.</em>
</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>By the time King Turgon disappeared, Rog had hoped the other Elf would say something. But Penlod seemed to be deep in his own thoughts. And Rog didn't want to start a fight for interrupting the other. So it was better to leave the square quietly, though it was a bit rude, especially when they had come a long way together.</p>
<p>He was a little tired thinking of the bellows, the furnace and the hammer waiting for him in the forge, and the reports accumulating in the hall. His deputy chief took charge of all the works, planning, and training when he was absent, except for paper work. Ever since the beginning of his punishment, Rog felt like he didn't want to put himself up to do anything, as if the cold air and Penlod's indifferent attitude every night had drained his motivation to work. It sounded strange, but it was true that since returning from Angband, Rog was easily influenced by dark memories, evil thoughts and negative moods, regardless of whether they belonged to him or others.</p>
<p><em>You’re allowed to stop.</em> The Lord of the House of the Hammer of Wrath told himself. <em>If you stop keeping yourself busy, that beast will wake up.</em></p>
<p>The road leading to the domain of the House of the Hammer of Wrath was a wide paved walkway, with rows of hedges like a green wall on the left, and a waist high wall on the right, built of white stone. From here, Rog could look down at the city layers of wall or lower paths, as well as the dimly lit Tumladen under the moonlight, or the mountain cut into the blue-violet sky.</p>
<p>The thin crescent moon drove slowly to the West, the glittering silver on the towering roofs, the winding staircase, carved columns, and long-running corridors. At this time, Gondolin was no different from the white lily, falling asleep under the stars. There was no sound. The singing in the hall had been ceased for a long time. On a deserted, windy and drenched street, Rog was almost happy to hear the steady footsteps approaching him. He had gotten used to the bustling, warm life in the forge, to the point where he couldn't stand the cold night for so long. The scene of silence reminded him of bad memories of the dungeon deep below Angband.</p>
<p>If the Elf walking behind Rog was someone else, he would have stopped and waited for that person to go with him, without hesitation. But Penlod was a huge problem. During the punishment, he had suffered enough cold air from him. Moreover, with his proud nature of doing things all by himself, Penlod would certainly rejected his offer.</p>
<p>Rog has been rebuffed so many times in the past - his beliefs, his hopes, his efforts to heal. All did not reach the icy heart of Penlod. Even when they were in harmony, the construction site’s head supervisor was determined not to take his reaching-out hand. Even just once. And of course not when the gap between them was so deep that they did not see the bottom.</p>
<p>
  <em>The best solution for us...maybe for “each one to mind his own business”. Nobody set expectations for anyone. Nobody tried to improve the relationship. No one regretted the past…keeping the two roads completely apart.</em>
</p>
<p>The lord of the House of the Hammer of Wrath deliberately walked faster. The slow footsteps behind him faded away, then completely disappeared when Rog turned the corner to the main forge.</p>
<p>If he looked back, he was afraid he could not control the emotions that lurked in the depth of his heart. The emotion that could no longer be told. The emotion should not be allowed to exist, after all that Penlod caused.</p>
<p>The emotion he wished he could bury with the past silhouette.</p>
<p>
  <em>“Hello, I am Penlod, son of Heleg – Head of the House of the Tower of Snow. Prince Turgon sent me to oversee the project because my father is away from Vinyamar. I came to talk about the number of tools for our masons and carvers.” The Elf in front of Rog smiled. He dressed quite simply as a family heir, and could even be mistaken for an ordinary builder. The summer moonlight glinted in his hair, the thickest and longest black hair among the Elven builders Rog had ever met. In order to work at the construction site, he had tied it up, but Rog could still imagine how they fell on his back like a waterfall.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“You should have met my father.” Rog said, wiping away the sweat from the heat in the forge, suddenly feeling so messy and pathetic. He could hardly look directly at Penlod. They were at the same age, but the other Elf had a more dignified demeanor. His aura made him feel overwhelmed, or mocked. “He is the head of the blacksmith ward, the other Elven builders all come to him. But today he took the people to get iron ore, you can come back on the day t…”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“I can’t.” Penlod insisted. “The mortar will dry by tomorrow. Why do we need the masons then? Not to mention that the mortar must be mixed from the beginning. Doesn't your father delegate the tasks to his heir while he is away? You can help me get out of this mess if you can put that stupid hammer down. Stop plugging your head into the forge, saving people is more important.”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“You don't seem to need anyone to save you.” Rog grumbled, still not taking his eyes off the red hot iron on the anvil.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Yes, you can’t imagine how the Elven builders could rebel horribly if they had to do something from the beginning again, and lacking of equipment.” His voice was a little pleading. He also feared, Rog thought. Behind that confident appearance, the young Elf was given a big task for the first time, and he didn't want it to end badly.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>He briefly remembered the first time he was asked to make a sword by his father - the fear that he would fail haunted him every moment, until the sword was completed and his father nodded in agreement. “Okay. But I have to warn you first, I have no experience in this case.” Rog surrendered, putting the hammer aside while the other Elf’s eyes lit up.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Me neither. This is the first time I've supervised the building on my own, instead of having the architects of the House of the Pillar come along.” Penlod said, unusually excited. “You and I seem to get along well. Don't worry, if your father blame you for any mistake, I will bear it with you.”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“You seem happy with the prospect of being scolded by my father.” Rog winced. His father rarely beat him, but when he did, that definitely was an unforgettable thrashing.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Still happier than the prospect of hard mortar, the whole construction site will stagnate. The builders will rebel. The Prince will get upset. And the Leader will be angry.” Penlod smiled, putting his hand on his shoulder as if they had been close for a long time. “Can we get started now, blacksmith? The dawn is coming up.”</em>
</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>
  <strong>Three.</strong>
</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>
  <em>It seemed we could never admit our feelings.</em>
</p>
<p>“Bro...ah, my Lord, haven't you sent the sword to the forge?” Tagoldhannen, the Deputy Chief and cousin of him hesitated to ask when he saw Penlod gazed at the broken sword on the table. Two long, thin cracks ran diagonally from the tip of the sword to the edge of the cross-guard, the metal blade was covered in chipping, and the white jewel inlaid on the sword body also missed a piece. Penlod had used this Uilos since Vinyamar, the blade had been soaked in blood of countless Orcs, but the light from it had never dimmed. And it was as sharp as it was just been taken from the forge. No enemy weapon could leave a mark on it, even if it was a small scratch.</p>
<p>When Prince Turgon handed Uilos to him, he was unaware that it was the product of Rog - the Elf who had just returned from Angband, who Penlod told himself not to trust. Through all these years, he did not bother to find out who forged the sword that followed him in and out many battles.</p>
<p>Not until the violent scuffle happened. Normally Rog only challenged him to a duel without using weapon, but that day the Elf was really agitated, to the point of using a blacksmith hammer to fight. <em>Are you two going to kill each other?</em> King Turgon shouted. Now as he thought about it, Penlod couldn't help but shudder at the thought of the possibility that Rog’s monster might awaken - or if he chose to use battle hammers instead of blacksmith hammer, the end would certainly not stop at the broken sword.</p>
<p>
  <em>“That sounds good, it still remembers this hammer blade, the hammer blade that made it. You know what, Lord?” Rog smirked, the hammer in his hand emitted white flames when he touched the body of the sword, the deafening sound piercing his ear like hundreds of sharp needles. The impulse numbed his hand, and the handle of the sword slid from his stiff fingers. “Blacksmith Elf can destroy the products they create. What a pity! Uilos used to be my pride.”</em>
</p>
<p>“My Lord, if you doesn't want to run into those Elves of the Hammer of Wrath, let me go instead.” The Deputy Chief suggested. “In the midst of this dark time, we must not without ours weapon. Let alone Uilos has been with you for a long time.”</p>
<p>“I don't want to owe him anymore.” Penlod softened his voice, running his hand along the patterned lines etched on the metal tongue, envisioning the scene where Rog meticulously touched them in the firelight. “This is his artifact, and he claimed to destroy it with his own hammer. He will definitely not agree to fix it.”</p>
<p>“You are thinking too much, My Lord. Lord Rog was agitated, remember? In fact, both of you were agitated.” The Deputy Chief anxiously looked at the sword. “But if you are determined, perhaps I will order them to forge a new sword for you.”</p>
<p>“Thanks, but I don't want it now. When I do, I will personally place an order. I’ve troubled you enough.” Penlod said, boredom and weariness crept into his heart like a black smoke - the familiar feeling when the sun was about to set, meaning that he had to suffer the punishment with Rog. Nearly four weeks of walking together did not improve the situation at all, only increased the exhaustion. Besides, something unexpected happened at the construction site this morning and the blood-tinged dream of the previous day made him more worried than the Lord of the Hammer of Wrath.</p>
<p>Penlod suddenly desired to lie down and sleep without dreaming, but he could not disobey the King. “It's time to come to the gate for the punishment. I leave the evening meeting to you, Tagoleg(*).”</p>
<p>“No matter what you say, I still find this punishment is...weird.” Tagoldhannen shrugged. He strongly opposed it when he first heard of it. “King Turgon sometimes is too whimsical. One month of walking with the nemesis, and holding hands like two elflings. I wonder where he got this ideas. “</p>
<p>“I thought the same thing.” Penlod replied, turning toward the door, where the sun dyed the marble columns in red. “But because of my wrongdoings, I don't have much right to comment. Actually...the punishment isn't as bad as I imagined. It's just a little dull. “</p>
<p>“Tonight is the last night, if my counting is right. Please try to endure it for just one more night, My Lord.” Tagoleg encouraged. “You should be glad you're about to get rid of that rude.”</p>
<p><em>Yes, it should have been happy.</em> Penlod was a bit dazed. He didn't even remember tonight being the last night. <em>Why I do not feel any joy now?</em></p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>Rog couldn't help seeing the face of the one with whom he was punished together. He was almost startled when Penlod approached, like a ghost without a lifelike, a pale crystal from the winter frost. Normally, he was always ten minutes earlier than the other Elf. During the four-week punishment, never had the Lord of the Tower of Snow come late... or trudged each step forward like now.</p>
<p>“What's wrong with you?” The Lord of the Hammer of Wrath blurted out, expected a long silence, an uncomfortable glance or a cold sentence from the other Elf.</p>
<p>“I'm fine. We're going to be late. If we delay too long, King Turgon will think that we are fighting in some alley again.” Penlod's voice surprised Rog a bit. It was more of the Elf of the old days rather than the neutral, cold voice of the proud Lord. It seemed the person in front of him didn't care - or couldn't stay calm as usual. His shoulders hung down tiredly and the dark cloud covered his beautiful face. He looked smaller and more melancholy than Rog remembered, to the degree that he wished he could put his arm around Penlod’s shoulders - as he often did - to comfort the other Lords.</p>
<p>However, the icy crust was still there, reminding him of the deep separating them. Taking a cold breath, Rog took Penlod’s hand to start the punishment, and to comfort the Elf, notwithstanding that Penlod might not recognize his belated goodwill.</p>
<p>“Let's go. One last night.” He whispered.</p>
<p>“You seem happy when the punishment is about to end.” Penlod said, as they followed a lonely road around the House of the Fountain and the House of the Golden Flower. When Gondolin was first built, the lords who had been good friends chose their territory near one another. He and Penlod was the exception. He could not understand why the King arranged this way, why Penlod who was in charge of supervising the construction did not object the arrangement, and why he himself accepted to live opposite the tower of his archenemy.</p>
<p>Rog didn't deny that sometimes he would unconsciously look up at the marble tower of the opposite House - to wait for something he didn't know, just knowing it made his heart unjustly cramped.</p>
<p>“Of course, the end of the punishment means we have more time to work.” Rog answered, in order to maintain the conversation. He didn't want it to end too soon, although there was not much to say between them. Since the day he fled Angband, Penlod had never actively spoken to him in peace.</p>
<p>He continued as the other was silent “King Turgon wants everything to be ready when the Elven Alliance summons him. I heard that Lord Maedhros and the High King Fingon are preparing for a critical battle with Morgoth. My House had quite a lot of things to do from dawn to dusk, forging weapons, armor and helmets, training soldiers, and patrolling around Tumladen...”</p>
<p>“You guys never rest your hands, huh.” The other Elf commented. Rog dimly realized there was something else transferring from his hand, aside from the familiar and terrifying cold of the ice. <em>Stress</em>, perhaps. The normal conversation attempt seemed too difficult for both of them. With conflict persisting for so many years, Rog did not think one day they could talk for more than three sentences without having to withdraw their weapons. It seemed that King Turgon knew from the beginning the effects of this punishment.</p>
<p>“Your house are equally busy. By the way, those tools you ordered are already done. They must be delivered to the construction site now.” The Lord of the Hammer of Wrath carefully selected his words. No topic was more neutral than work. The gap between them was too deep, and now they had to move carefully little by little, starting from innocuous issues that didn't carry the seeds of disagreement. It was like mending fragments together. Rog thought wryly, thinking of Lord Egalmoth of the House of the Heavenly Arch and his respectful meticulousness with broken pieces of jewel.</p>
<p>They passed through a small garden between two wards, with smooth green grass surrounding a large fountain, and hidden under the old canopy was beautiful stone gazebo, an ideal place for musicians or scholars to gather every night. But the garden was unusually deserted now, with no visitors, except the two lords.</p>
<p>The last sunlight faded after the Echoriath, and the gloomy darkness covered the garden like a thin gray blanket. The first stars glowed against the blue-gray sky, at the same time millions of Elven lights flared up in the stone halls, on the arches far away and along the gravel paths.</p>
<p>“Sorry. I need to stop for a bit.” Penlod breaks the silence. Rog was a little concerned when he heard his voice breathless. “Do you feel alright?”</p>
<p>“Maybe not. But if you want to continue, then I...”</p>
<p>“Don't say nonsense. Let's go to the fountain. The water can alleviate fatigue and sorrow, by the hand of Lord Ecthelion who built that fountain.”</p>
<p>Penlod did not object when he changed direction, stepping out of the main road - for the first time in hundreds of years refusing his ideas, he seemed to agree now. <em>There was definitely something wrong. If not to say it was extremely shocking…enough for the Lord of the Tower of Snow to become so strange</em>. Rog thought, but did not dare to advise him on finding a healer. After all, they had only been talking peacefully for half an hour, and he forced himself not to cross the line. They needed time to get used to this new relationship.</p>
<p>“Two people died today in front of me. The loose rope slipped off as they pulled the rock to the wall.” Penlod blurted out as he leaned against the cool water brick of the fountain. “Even though I know there are risks working at the construction site, it is still difficult to accept. It feels like I killed them with my own hands...I should have realized there was something wrong with that rope when I saw it was skewed.”</p>
<p>Rog's throat choked. He could not speak, could not think of any words to comfort the other Lord, because that was the same pain tormenting him every second. Rog had never forgotten the painful screams in Angband's prison, the last glance of his father, or the way blood spilled on the black stone.</p>
<p>Despite the fact that they had become Lord for more than three hundred years, passing through so much loss and wars, seeing someone died before them was still something beyond the endurance of the heart.</p>
<p>“Besides...” Penlod hesitated, as if pondering whether to share with him. “... Have you ever had the dream of foreshadowing?”</p>
<p>Rog laughed bitterly. The tortures of the orcs deprived him of his vision - the grace that Valar bestowed upon the Elves, though not always accurate. “Not once. I have only two options, one to stay up all night, and the other to have a nightmare about the fiery Angband. “</p>
<p>“I'm sorry. I...didn't know that.” The Lord of the Tower of Snow wrapped his arms around his knees, cowering as if suddenly feeling cold. Absolute silence gathered between them, covering the garden like a freezing gray fog. <em>Certainly a dream that turned him into this</em>. Rog thought, wishing he had the ability to read the other’s mind, like he was before Angband. Penlod rarely apologized to others. <em>What did he see? What future is wating for us?</em></p>
<p>“I have no idea what you dreamed about and how you are feeling. I'm not good at uplifting other people's spirits either, but...” Rog cautiously said, hoping the other Elf didn't get angry or upset. “...sometimes I think just being able to live, in the present, is extremely happy.”</p>
<p>“Your definition of happiness is too simple, isn't it?” Penlod's voice was slightly cold.</p>
<p>“In the prison of the Dark Lord, prisoner was killed every few minutes. Because they could not bear the torture, because they killed himself, because the guards were bored, because the rotten Maia Sauron needed fresh flesh and blood for the wolves he raised, for all other reasons. Death was everywhere, enveloping everything, encircling us in the middle. At that time, life was something far away and unreal, like a faint ghost. As long as we breathe, we're not dead. Not dead, not alive, do you understand that feeling?”</p>
<p>“So for you right now, happiness is living. Even living with dark memories and broken hearts. Even when there is regret and torment.” Penlod muttered, not looking at him.</p>
<p>“What I want to say is I am happy to be alive, to feel life clearer than death, though only slightly. Like sitting here talking for example. That's enough for me.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, it's enough for me too...” The other’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Rog, there's one thing I always want to ask you, if you feel uncomfortable, you do not need to answer.”</p>
<p>“What is it?”</p>
<p>“The monster that the Dark Lord planted on you. I have heard from King Turgon. He believes you can control it, but... is there any risk...”</p>
<p>Rog smirked. This was not the first time he had received a question about the ferocious beast inside him. “I swear, with my life. Because the moment it wakes up, I will disappear from this world. It will only be allowed to wake up once - when Gondolin is near the fate of destruction. And that day... I hope I will never come.”</p>
<p>The Lord of the Tower of Snow did not respond. He lowered his head, almost buried his face between his knees. After a while, he spoke. His voice was trembling, hoarse, and hard to listen to, so Rog had to try as hard as he could. “Rog, you are the worst bastard I've ever met in my life.”</p>
<p>“Hey, don't let that reach the ears of King Turgon. He will claim that I cause trouble to you. I don't want to be punished from the beginning.” Rog said shyly. The King's vision was so far away that he must not have missed any details - ever since they stopped under the fountain. He hoped he didn't blame him for putting Penlod in this weird situation.</p>
<p>“Why didn't you tell me at that time?” Penlod suddenly looked straight at him. His eyes were red, but there were no tears. “If only that in Vinyamar, I heard those words...I wouldn’t have been not too suspicious...”</p>
<p>“I tried to say, many times.” Rog sighed, understanding what Penlod was talking about. “But you always turn away when you see me. I don't understand it. Anyway, let it pass. Don’t be tensed. Whenever you feel you can continue, let me know.”</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>
  <strong>Lastly.</strong>
</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>It seemed we'd been silent for too long.</p>
<p>“Penlod!”</p>
<p>The Lord of the House of the Tower of Snow hesitated for a moment then decided to turn his head, watching the blacksmith Elf stride toward him, across the square submerged in moonlight. He could not face him - after their last night of punishment, when they sat in the garden together and he acted like an unchecked Elfling. <em>Hopefully, he had not yet declared to Gondolin the pathetic appearance of his mortal enemy.</em></p>
<p>Penlod sensed the extreme insecurity of the King and the surrounding Lords - who lingered after the late meeting. The closer Rog came to him, the greater his unease. He even faintly heard Glorfindel whispering to Ecthelion “Probably going to fight again.”</p>
<p>“Just finished the meeting and you rush to run away.” The Lord of the House of the Hammer of Wrath murmured, stopping a distance from him. Not too far, not too close. “You look like you're being chased by an orc army. Are you planning to abandon your sword too?”</p>
<p>“I...” Penlod was at a loss for words. The blacksmith offered him a cloth bundle that he had been holding all this time. “Here, your Uilos. I have to adjust the blade slightly to balance it. Following the advice of the King and Lord Egalmoth, I replaced the white pearl on the body with blue Topaz...”</p>
<p>He hesitated for a few seconds, awkwardly running his hand through his reddish brown hair, then said: “This blue is well-suited for your eyes’ colour.”</p>
<p>“Thank you, Lord.” Penlod lowered his head, in order to hide his flushed cheeks. Glorfindel whispered over to Ecthelion: “It’s going to be fun.” <em>This idiot, things like this don't need to be told in front of everyone. Could he not hand the sword somewhere less noticeable?</em></p>
<p>“If there is a problem with the new sword, please tell me.” Rog said calmly, seemingly unaware of the atmosphere he just created. Then he turned and walked down the stairs, towards the white stone path, leaving Penlod with countless chaotic emotions.</p>
<p>
  <em>It seemed our destiny has been fixed.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>But…</em>
</p>
<p>Ignoring the murmurs from the other Lords, Penlod hurriedly chased Rog, just as the blacksmith was about to make a turn.</p>
<p>“Rog!”</p>
<p>The Lord of the Hammer of Wrath was startled, immediately stopping in the middle of the passage. “What happened?” He spoke loudly, but his voice was not rippling or irritated as usual.</p>
<p>“Wait for me. We can go together.”</p>
<p>The moment that sentence was uttered, Penlod heard a faint crackle sound. Not of the heart, but of the thick ice covering it.</p>
<p>It seemed that an ice spike had just fallen.</p>
<p>“Why did not you say that earlier?” Rog answered quietly. If the illusion did not deceive his eyes, he seemed to be smiling - for the first time since the day Gondolin was completed.</p>
<p><em>He has returned</em>. Penlod thought. Without hesitation, he extended his hand and took the warm blacksmith's hand that was holding out to him.</p>
<p>
  <em>...But we can still have a different beginning. Though not as beautiful as the opportunities we missed, we can still make up for some of the past mistakes.</em>
</p>
<p>The light from the crescent moon floating in the sky no longer felt cold, but suddenly became gentle. The wind that blew down from the snow-capped Echoriath was no longer icy, but cool and faintly of wildflowers on the Tumladen.</p>
<p>The spring in Gondolin had long passed.</p>
<p>But to the hearts of the two Lords, the snow melting season had just begun.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>-End-</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>There are two original male characters mentioned:<br/>1. (*)Tagoleg is short for Tagoldhannen, which means Fallen Pillar (long story for why we came up with this name). Penlod used the short form to show that they were very close (also because the full name was too long).<br/>2. Iorthon (Galdor's father) means Old Pine</p></blockquote></div></div>
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